


the stars are just old light

by Jaxin



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Ladies Helping Ladies, Leia is Anakin's daughter, M/M, bilingual romance, just as Luke is Padme's son, the Rebellion doesn't know how to deal with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxin/pseuds/Jaxin
Summary: Before she'd had her first period, Jyn knew how to count her exits. It was one of Saw's first lessons: always be ready to leave.But now? Now, she keeps finding reasons to stay.She'll find the exits in the morning.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, my Spanish is hella rusty, so if you notice something I've messed up, please feel free to let me know. Second, hey, we might actually hit 1,000 Jyn/Cassian fics by Valentine's Day! Or at least we will if I have anything to say about it. 
> 
> This is only the first chapter, since I have another fic I'm focusing on right now, but I hope y'all enjoy it. I have ~plans~ for this one. Shoutout to helplesslynerdy, who inspired this one with our long conversations and also her overall wonderfulness.
> 
> Title borrowed from Regina Spektor, who has an unmatched way with words.

It’s Cassian’s suggestion, and in the end, that’s the only reason Jyn’s considering it. There’s a part of her that hates that, but she’s moving past it. Slowly.

The fact that he was willing to die beside her might have something to do with it.

-=-

She never meant to spend so much time with him. He was supposed to be her ticket out of this mess. First he was her chaperone, sent to ensure the Rebellion got what they wanted out of her, like these damn groups always did. Then, somehow, he ended up being her ally.

And then she ended up  _ trusting _ him. That was never supposed to be on the table, and she knows there’s something wrong with her. She shouldn’t trust the man sent to murder her father. That shouldn’t even be an option. But she does, and in the weeks they spend recovering from the Battle of Scarif, she finds she just keeps trusting him. To be there, when she wakes up. To have her back, when General Draven swoops in to roast both of them for disobeying orders, and threatens to have Jyn expelled to the furthest edges of the Unknown Regions. 

To hold her, when the nightmares drag her, screaming, from her sleep.

Cassian Andor broke her, somehow. She doesn’t know how yet ( _ yes she does _ ), but he did. And the rest of Rogue One, restricted to the other end of the medbay as if she’ll somehow convince them all to go haring off against the Empire again, have picked up the splinters. They’ve stolen pieces for themselves without even trying, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever feel whole without them again.

She has a terrible feeling that without Cassian, she’ll just… stop living. No grand dramatics, no dying confessions. Just the still, calm, omnipresent quiet that she used to think was enough.

She knows better now.

It drives her mad, when he’s sent out without her. She knows he has to, understands his value too well to even attempt to convince him otherwise. But Jyn Erso was made for action, and without Cassian around to stabilize her, she knows she is beginning to fray at the edges.

The Death Star is gone, her father’s life work destroyed by a cheerful farmer with a smile so wide Jyn can barely look at it. She and Cassian may be restricted to the medbay, but neither of them are stupid, and when the farmer-turned-Jedi visits the day after he blows it up they both nod and grip his hand when he offers it.

The Death Star may be gone, but so is Alderaan.

It’s not his fault, but neither of them can forget it. Not when her father had spoken of it with such awe, such respect, and was the ultimate architect of its demise. Not when Cassian spent months if not years there, recruiting for the Alliance.

There are some worlds where years of effort don’t even bring in one recruit. Alderaan was not one of those worlds.

She catches his hands, after the farmer—Luke—leaves, and neither of them let go for a very long time.

-=-

All things considered, she thinks she’s doing pretty well for someone who fits most descriptions of ‘traumatized’ in the heavy book of mental disorders that the Rebellion’s counselor carries around ( _ don’t think about Mama and Saw and Papa, don’t think about Alderaan, they are gone and you are here _ ).

She’s told that she’s frigid, almost sociopathic. She unnerves her healers, scares the visitors who come to gawk at the broken hero of Scarif. 

“You burn very bright, mi estrella,” Cassian whispers against the back of her neck. “They can hardly see past your glare.”

“Good. I’ve been practicing my glare for years.” He huffs out an irritated breath, and she allows herself to relax a little as he shifts onto his back, away from her side. She has to annoy him. She can’t get used to his warmth, or the soft intimacy of his voice when he uses his native tongue with her, and  _ oh  _ does that give her ideas that she shouldn’t have.

Jyn’s been angry at her mother for years, for choosing to go after Galen instead of protecting her daughter. But now… now Jyn can understand, even if only a little, why Lyra made the decision she did.

Turns out sometimes, it’s hardly a decision at all.

It’s hardly a decision, when she requests daily visits from a translator droid while Cassian is off on his first mission since Scarif. He can barely walk, but the Rebellion needs him, so he makes himself stand. The healer who set his spine doesn’t even pause for breath as she lists all the ways this could go wrong, but her hands are steady as she helps him into his back brace. 

He doesn’t say anything, before he leaves. But he doesn’t have to. His jaw works, but no sound comes out. Jyn leans over and grabs his hand. The healer glances between them and leaves, and Jyn holds his eyes. “Come back. Do what you have to do, but  _ come back _ .”

He nods, sharp and decisive, and his hand tightens around hers, and then he is gone, hobbling out the door of the small room he and Jyn were moved into a week before. So far, the Alliance has not tried to separate them. She doesn’t know if they’re conserving resources or keeping an eye on her, but she’s grateful for it.

She bites her lip, and when the healer comes back Jyn asks for the translator droid.

Cassian comes back days later, jacket singed and limp heavy and pain written deep in the lines around his eyes. Jyn manages to hoist herself out of her bed, her legs weak and shaking. His arms envelop her and she closes her eyes and presses her ear against his chest, grounding herself with his heartbeat. 

When he wakes that night, hands trembling and eyes wide with terror and self-hatred, Jyn is there and it is no decision at all.  _ She’s in too deep _ , the voice inside shrieks, and yes. She is. She curls up beside him, her hands running up and down his back, and whispers “Estás bien, estoy aquí, no estás solo.”

His back goes rigid, and for a moment her fears flood her, freezing her hands.  _ You’ve overstepped, you hurt him, he doesn’t want this, not from you _ but then he looks up and his dark eyes are burning and his lips are on hers and she tells her fears to fuck off, because she is suddenly and emphatically busy.

She’s always been good with languages, but it’s never mattered before. Not like this.

-=-

When the translator droid appears the next morning—well, after it barges into their room before apologizing hastily and backing out, leaving them scrambling for their clothes—Cassian catches her eye and tells it they won’t need its service anymore. It bows and leaves, golden joints gleaming, and he whispers  _ mi sol, mis estrellas  _ into her skin, and she whispers it back to him, his accent curling around her words.

He leaves to report his findings to the council, and Jyn grabs her hated crutches and makes her daily pilgrimage to visit the rest of Rogue One. Bodhi lays in bed, body still covered by bandages, but when she takes his hand gently and tells him Cassian is back, he relaxes. 

Chirrut lays in the bed next to him and spins his new staff, smirking. She glares balefully at him, ignoring the quiet amusement on Baze’s face. Chirrut lifts his eyebrows and grins. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” she says sourly, and then ignores him. Later that morning, before she leaves, Baze catches her hand. 

“Be happy, little sister.” She swallows against the guilt that comes crashing into her, because she is, and she doesn’t deserve to be. He watches her, eyes steady, and tightens his hand around hers. His hands are careworn, calloused, but they feel safe. He shakes his head at her, just a little, and his voice goes lower, an admonition. “Be happy.”

“I’ll try,” she says, and is stunned to realize she actually means it.

 


End file.
